Cemeteries R Us
by Yseult deBreton
Summary: Spike, Buffy, and a conversation in a graveyard. This is a sort-of sequel to "Random Thoughts". Set after "Selfless" (BtVS, season 7).


TIMELINE/SPOILERS: Set just after "Him" (BtVS, season 7) and "Ground State" (Angel, season 4). Spoilers for seasons 6 and 7 (BtVS) and seasons 3 and 4 (Angel)  
DISCLAIMER:  What?  You didn't know?  BtVS and AtS belong to me.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  This is a sort-of sequel to "Random Thoughts".

* * *

 "Here." Spike greeted Buffy as she approached him in Restfield Cemetery.

Buffy looked at the container in Spike's hand.  Then she looked at Spike.  He was sitting on someone's monument where he was juggling a cigarette and two large cups.  He was dressed in his usual attire:  leather pants, t-shirt, duster, bleached blond hair, neatly painted fingernails.  

"Hey.  You painted your fingernails.  Black.  There's a surprise."

Spike shot her a pained expression of exasperation.

"Are you gonna take this or not?  I'm burning my fingers here."  He thrust the container at her.  Buffy eyed the vampire suspiciously.

"What is it?"  She tried, and failed, to hide the skepticism in her voice as she accepted it.

"One of those mocha frappy crappy thingies you're forever inhaling." He lifted his matching cup and offered a mock salutation.  "Cheers," he said and took a long swallow.

Buffy looked at her cup in amazement.  "Why?" she asked before taking a sip.

Spike shook his head in disbelief.  "Why? How the hell would I know why you drink that stuff.  The caffeine only winds you up even more than you bloody already are.  It's bad enough you joke with the vampires before you stake 'em.  Add one of those things to the mix and you get downright chatty."

Buffy joined him on the tombstone.  "I meant, why'd I get this?  And more to the point, why are you here tonight?  And not insane even?  You're not, are you?"  Her voice trailed off as she squinted at Spike's face.

The vampire rolled his eyes towards the night sky and addressed no one in particular.  "See what I mean?  Slayer's tripping and it's only 8 o'clock."  He puffed on his cigarette for a few moments before answering her.  "No.  I'm not insano boy at the moment.  That's my next trick.  Would you like a frigging preview?"  He tossed the cigarette onto the ground.

"Nope!  Jeez.  Someone woke up grumpy."    She jumped off the tombstone and buried the burning cigarette into the grass with her heeled boot.  "So why did I get this?"

Spike shook his head again.  "You like them.  I know you like them.  And you had a long drive.  I thought we could… you know."  He shrugged his shoulders.

Buffy's eyes widened as she realized what was happening.  "YOU'RE BRIBING ME?  What?  You thought I'd tell you about my trip to LA if you gave me coffee?  How easy do you think I am?  Don't answer that."  Buffy was incredulous and, she had to admit, a little flattered that he wanted to know.  But she wasn't ready to talk, so she changed topics.

"What are you drinking?"  She indicated his cup.  As far as she knew, and she knew quite a bit about Spike, coffee wasn't his drink.  Something malted was more his style.

Spike grimaced.  "Same as you with a twist.  So, how was LA?  I heard Angel did some deepsea fishing."  Spike had seen right through her diversionary tactic.  More accurately, he'd seen her pull into Revello Drive and slam the car door, her front door, her back door, and two vamps who couldn't run fast enough.  Whatever had happened in LA, it wasn't good.  Buffy was in SuperSlayer mode.  That usually meant someone or something, usually him, had royally pissed her off.  If he were a betting man, he'd put money on Angel as the source of tonight's performance.

"LA was fine."  Buffy mumbled the words into her cup.  As the silence lengthened, she studied her manicure and flicked some dirt from her pants.  "Okay.  It wasn't fine.  It was awful."

Spike glanced at her face.  She looked like she was thinking about crying.  He almost stroked her cheek.  Then he remembered the last time he had touched her, and he pulled his hand back.  "Tell me what happened, pet," he said softly.

Buffy idly kicked the tombstone before sitting beside him.  "Nothing and everything."  She sighed heavily.  "He has a son.  Guess who the mom is?"

"Darla," responded Spike without blinking. 

"How did…?  You knew and you didn't say anything?"  The pain on her face mirrored the expression of that last night on her bathroom floor.  Spike needed to tread softly or he would become part of the landscape.

"Wasn't my place to say, pet.  And I thought he'd already told you."  His voice softened the impact of the unspoken question:  why didn't Angel tell her about his child?

"He didn't actually tell me.  I heard it from one of his co-workers, I guess.  Who also told me how Angel and Cordelia are the perfect couple.  Couple of what is what I wanna know."  Buffy rolled the cup between her hands.  "Cordelia.  All the people on this entire planet and he picks Cordelia."

The name was familiar but Spike couldn't put a face to it.  "Who's Cordelia when she's not high and mighty?"

Buffy made a choking sound.  "That's just it.  Apparently she was high and mighty.  And in her previous life, she was a cheerleader at Sunnydale High and reigned as Queen C.  'Til she started dating Xander."  She smiled at the memory.

"Hang on.  Handyman's ex?  The one Anya was always complaining about?  I would've paid good money to see that!"  He grinned wickedly at the anticipation of future tormenting of Xander.

"Twist of what?" asked Buffy.

"Beg your pardon?"  Spike was lost.  She'd clearly changed topics again.  He just couldn't figure out which one they were on.

"You said you had the same thing as me except yours has a twist.  What's it twisted with?"  Her hand accidentally brushed his thigh as she reached into his personal space and stole his cup.

"Jack Daniel's liquid heaven."  He grabbed his cup and drained the remainder of his drink.

"Ooooo.  Can I have some?"  Buffy batted her eyelashes in a blatant display of coquetry.

"No, you may not."  Spike was shocked that she was openly flirting with him.  He wondered what hell had happened in LA.

"Why not?"  The infamous pout danced over her lips.  "I'm legal.  I had a birthday and everything."

Spike jumped off the tombstone and moved away from her.  "Are you daft?  You and alcohol do not mix.  I heard all about Cave Buffy.  And besides, when Nancyboy shows up later tonight to beat me to a bleeding pulp, I want you sober so you can feel suitably remorseful and stop him from staking me."  He whirled in frustration and dug in his pockets for another cigarette.

When he turned around, he walked right into her.  "Don't worry.  He's not coming.  So gimme some already."  It wasn't her words as much as her face that told him the truth.  Angel wasn't coming to Sunnydale to kill the vampire who had slept with the Slayer.

Spike pulled a bottle out of his coat pocket, poured some into her empty cup, and took a long swig himself.  "Want to tell me why not?"  Not that he wasn't pleased not to see Angel.  But this didn't sound like the Angel/Angelus he knew.  Unless Buffy hadn't told the perpetually brooding vampire about the trysts in the crypt.  "He doesn't know then?  About you and me?"

Buffy ignored the hopeful tone in his voice.  "He knows."  She delivered the news in a monotone.  

Spike was sure he hadn't heard her.  "He knows?"

She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him.  "He knows.  He knows, and he's not coming."   Buffy turned away.  She refused to cry.  She was not going to cry in a cemetery with an insane souled vampire and a bottle of whiskey as her witnesses.  She would not cry.

"I'm sorry, love."  Spike's voice whispered past her ear.  She could sense him behind her.  He was a taut jumble of pain, love, sorrow, guilt.  If she stepped back, she would feel his body against hers.  Except she knew that if she took that step, Spike would take two steps back.  There would always be this distance between them.  Just like in LA.

"It's over, isn't it?"

Spike searched his mind for a suitable response.   The right answer kept swimming to the top:  "Yes".  But he couldn't give that to Buffy.  This woman still held his heart and he wouldn't inflict more pain.

"I dunno.  I don't think it'll ever be over between you two.  Not until you're both dead."  Buffy raised her head sharply and her features shifted into Slayer mode.  "Not that I'm wishing death for either one of you," added Spike as he held his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender.  "But you and Angel … you two are the stuff of prophecies, apocalypses, and other such nonsense.  No.  I can't say it's over.  And neither can you."

"You're giving me advice on Angel?  God, you really are insane."  It was a forced bravado and they both knew it.  Her stance altered as the Slayer stood a little more assertively.  She lifted her chin and silently dared him to call her bluff.

Spike looked around for the bottle of Jack Daniels.  He spotted it sitting on the tombstone.  It was empty.  He clapped his hands together.  "Right then.  How about we go find us some vampires to kill?"  He strode towards the cemetery's entrance.

"Fine," said Buffy as she hurried to catch up with him.  "But as soon as you start babbling, you're on your own."

They walked for several minutes before Spike suddenly stopped and patted his pockets.  "Hell.  I left my lighter back there."

"You can't wait a couple of hours?" asked Buffy.  Her skin was itching; she needed to fight.

"No, I can't.  Go on.  I'll catch up."  Spike ran back to the monument.

He patted the ground in a grand parody of searching.  When he stood up, he spoke to the shadows.  "You owe me."

One shadow separated and revealed itself.  "No, Spike, you owe me your unlife.  I won't help you with your soul.  Consider it part of your redemption.  But you hurt her again and I will.  Kill You.  Slowly."  The shadow stepped back, blended with the darkness, and was silent.

"And you?" asked Spike.  "Who gets to kill you when you hurt her again?"

Angel's voice floated out of the still night.  "She does."  


End file.
